


Aftermath

by FlorentineQuill



Series: Preening Her, Preening Him [4]
Category: Maleficent (2014)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Battle, physical therapy is a bitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-02-13 18:42:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2161020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlorentineQuill/pseuds/FlorentineQuill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maleficent and Diaval rest and regain their strength after the battle in Aurora's castle.</p>
<p>Now available in <a href="http://www.movietvslash.com/thread-141385-1-1.html">Chinese</a>. Translation by <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/scylla1345/pseuds/scylla1345">scylla1345</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Because, let's face it, Maleficent isn't going to be flying anywhere on flight muscles that haven't been used for the past seventeen years once the adrenaline has worn off.

Leaving Stefan’s body for his people to find, Maleficent swooped back into the throne room. Her wings scraped against the broken glass, and she staggered a little when she landed— Her ankle hadn’t healed yet from the iron chain Stefan had wrapped around it. Diaval raised his head from where he had awkwardly tucked himself into a corner of the hall. Aurora was standing in front of him, arms spread as if that alone could protect him from the dozen guards armed with sword and spear and chain.

Several of the guards turned at Maleficent’s entrance, and the bravest of the group raised their weapons, as if to charge. Maleficent crouched, and raised her wings, ready to knock them all down if they so much as took a step towards her.

“ _Stop!_ ” Aurora’s voice was young and untrained, but there was power in it. 

The guards glanced back, startled, and Maleficent stood up straight with some difficulty. She had forgotten how heavy her wings were, after seventeen years without them. Every movement tugged at her center of balance, but she managed to fold them along her spine, primaries dragging on the ground.

One of the guards glanced between Maleficent and Aurora, and lowered his sword. His armor was tarnished from the battle but it was of better make than his fellows, with bits of (half-melted) gold ornamentation on his pauldrons and helm. “Your Highness,” he said hesitantly. “Do you even know who that creature _is_?” He gestured with his sword at Maleficent. She curled her lip at him in a silent challenge before looking at Aurora.

There was a beat of silence, and then Aurora’s voice could be heard throughout the entire hall. “She is Maleficent, Queen and Protector of the Moors, and she is my Godmother. No one is to harm her, am I understood?”

Maleficent didn’t bother to hide her sharp smile, and Diaval let out an amused rumble that made the guards jump. She could feel the magic lacing Aurora’s words— Respect would come in time, but for now, all that mattered was obedience, however spell-touched. Aurora reached back, and placed a hand on Diaval’s wing. “Diaval is hardly going to burn down the castle, unless you persist in attacking him. Now, put those weapons down!”

The guard who had spoken gaped at her, but she didn’t back down, standing tall and flushed with determination. He sheathed his sword, and the others followed suit, sheathing swords, lowering spears, and dropping chains to the ground. “As your Highness commands,” he muttered and bowed. 

_Oh, well done, beastie_. Maleficent approached the group, and favored them with an icy stare. “You’ll find your king outside,” she told them. “My quarrel with your land ended with him.” She smiled, slow and confident as she opened her wings, just a little. “Unless you care to start it anew? Against direct orders from your Princess?” A part of her had missed fighting, the way her blood sang when she sent enemies scattering before her.

She watched the lead guard, but he looked away quickly. He turned back to Aurora. “There is work to be done, your Highness,” he said. “By your leave, I will see the wounded tended to, and the dead gathered.” He gave Maleficent an opaque look but she refused to be baited. _I did not start this fight, little man. I merely ended it._

Aurora nodded. “Of course. I’ll join you in a few moments.” 

The guard looked pained. “Your Highness, I can’t just leave you alone with…” He fell silent, turning red as he struggled to think of an inoffensive term for Maleficent and Diaval. Maleficent arched an eyebrow when he glanced at her and he went almost purple. “With recent enemies,” he finally said.

Aurora looked annoyed, scowling at the guard. “They are not “recent enemies” to me. I’ve know them most of my life,” she said and behind her, Diaval vigorously nodded his agreement. It was comical with his current size, and several of the other guards stared.

Maleficent spoke up. “I doubt we will keep your precious Princess for more than a few minutes.” She caught Aurora’s eye. “Surely your guards would be content to wait in the hall?”

The man opened his mouth to protest, but Aurora brightened at the suggestion. “Yes! Wait in the hall, I’ll be perfectly safe, I promise.” She beamed at him.

This time, Maleficent winced _with_ the guard. If Maleficent had a mind to, she could probably abscond with Aurora, back out the window. Not to mention that Aurora was less than a mouthful for Diaval in his current form. _She has a lot to learn._

“As your Highness commands,” he said, and bowed again, gesturing for his men to follow. They did so, bowing and retreating to just beyond the great hall’s entrance, and not a step beyond.

Maleficent watched them go. The lead guard muttered some orders and several of the men left. The rest turned to watch her and Diaval, hands on hilts. _Perhaps they can be taught, on occasion._

She eyed the lingering guards and the lack of doors leading into the throne room. Diaval yawned, and stretched one wing out, neatly blocking Aurora and Maleficent from view. He looked so pleased with himself as the guards yelped that Maleficent shook her head. Aurora laughed before turning to look at her godmother.

“Are— Are you alright?” Aurora asked her, hesitantly.

“Nothing that won’t heal,” Maleficent promised. She cast an eye over Diaval, and swallowed back her fear. _He makes a very large target in a small space._  

“I’m afraid you’re rather stuck like that for the night,” she told him. “I don’t have the power to turn you back into your raven-shape and heal you.”

Diaval gave a half-shrug with his free wing, and settled his weight more comfortably. He lay his head down so that his neck curved behind Maleficent. She leaned against him with a sigh, wings sagging to the ground. 

“Are they supposed to do that?”Aurora looked alarmed and Maleficent managed a faint smile. 

“They’re just tired, beastie. I asked a lot of them after seventeen years.” She didn’t dare think about how the rest of her flight muscles would feel in the morning, and trembled as she ran her fingers through her primaries. _My wings. I have my wings_ back. _That’s worth any amount of pain._ As it stood, the place where her scars had been _hurt,_ red hot iron pins and needles that seared. Her own magic had ripped open the old wounds all over again, forcing torn muscles and dislocated joints back together _._ If not for Diaval’s reassuring bulk, she might have dropped to the ground. She rolled her shoulders and wished for willow bark tea.

“Tend to your own people, Aurora,” she said, and nodded towards the guards. “The past sixteen years have not been kind to them.”

Aurora looked around the throne room, at the crumbling stone and cracked columns. “Yes,” she said, biting her lip. She darted forward and flung her arms around Maleficent’s waist in a quick, fierce hug. Abused muscles protested and Maleficent’s breath caught in her chest even as Aurora pulled back. She stared at Aurora blankly. _What on earth—_

“I’ll see you in the morning, Godmother,” Aurora promised and left, ducking under Diaval’s wing.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diaval and Maleficent make themselves comfortable for the night.

“Are you sure you’re comfortable, Diaval?” Maleficent asked.

Diaval let out a gusty sigh from where he was stretched out on the ground, sparks dancing up from his muzzle. He leaned into her touch as she smoothed back one of the feathers edging his jaw, the quills a soft contrast to the rougher scales of dragon skin. It was always a surprise to see how his true, raven-self manifested in the creatures she changed him into. Feathers were most common; this time running down the back of his spine and along the leading edges of his wings.

She resisted the urge to pet said feathers, and ran her fingers over a long, shallow graze at the base of one horn instead. While she didn’t have enough magic to turn him back into his raven-shape or even heal all of his hurts, there was enough to heal this. Taking a deep breath (and wincing as abused flight muscles moved), she placed both hands over the cut and focused. 

Healing flesh and muscle was a far cry from healing the trees and plants of the Moors, but Diaval had “soaked” in her magic for years and was used to responding to her demands, shifting from raven to man to beast and back. Under her, Diaval tensed but didn’t move. A moment later, she let out her breath, and pulled her hands away. The slash was gone, without even a scar to show for it. Diaval snorted and shook his head, giving her a _look_.

“Don’t you dare chide me for this,” she said, eyeing him right back as she ran a hand down his neck and out along his wing. “I will heal by dawn, you will not.” The pain in her wing joints was subsiding as her magic worked to heal her injuries.

She ignored his disgusted mutter, and satisfied herself that there were no dangerous wounds waiting to be discovered. Dragon hide was tough, and most of the spears and swords had done no harm. Here and there an arrow or crossbow bolt had punched through or slashed shallow furrows, but never very deep. She made sure there were no broken heads or shafts in the gashes. “I do believe you did yourself more damage blundering into those columns,” she said, circling around to his other shoulder as she finished her inspection. “I imagine I won’t be the only one nursing sore muscles. The rest will have to wait until tomorrow, but I can help with the pain.”

Diaval made an odd sound, deep in his throat, but didn’t object as she scraped together enough magic to numb his hurts. He blinked at the loss of sensation, and craned his neck around to eye himself, as if to make sure he was still there. “It’ll wear off by morning,” she said, amused.

He cocked his head at her. _And you_? he seemed to ask. He shifted his tail, bringing it around so that she was tucked away from the rest of the world. He adjusted one wing, draping it over her. She raised an eyebrow, but he ignored it. He slowly stretched out his neck towards her. 

“Oh, all right,” she said and there was a definite gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.

It was her turn to be inspected, and she stood still as he not-quite nudged at her with his snout. His breath was hot and metallic as it ruffled her hair and feathers. His nostrils flared, tongue flicking out to taste the air. He muttered to himself as he looked her over, in the way that was pure Diaval, no matter his current shape. 

She only tensed when he arched his neck to inspect her wings, ice curling through her veins at the thought of anyone getting close to what had been so recently regained. Above her, he went just as still. It was uncomfortable, breathless moment for the both of them before he moved back, settling his head back on the ground with a satisfied grunt.

“Glad to have your approval,” she remarked. He grunted again, closing his eyes. She eyed the stone floor and the protective enclosure of dragon between her and the open room. 

_I could always sleep on his back_ , she mused, eyeing the broad, feathered shoulders, just out of reach. _Too exposed_ , she decided after catching sight of several upper galleries that had survived the fight. She shuddered at the thought of regaining her wings, only to lose them again to anyone with a grudge and a bow. _Better to stay hidden_. 

Decision made, she cast about for a suitable place to curl up for the night. Diaval’s body heat had warmed the surrounding stone to a comfortable temperature but he wasn’t exactly designed for use as a pillow. He was sitting back on his haunches, low enough for his chest and neck to rest on the ground. _He looks more like a nesting chicken than roosting raven at the moment_. 

She settled herself against his side, just under the massive wing joint. She tucked her wings more tightly to her back and lay down so that they were pressed against his side. She let out a slow sigh as heat seeped into wire-tight muscles and joints. Diaval made an inquisitive chirrup but she shook her head as the pain eased to something easily ignored. “If you crush me, nothing on this earth will prevent me from transforming you into a worm permanently,” she warned. 

He let out a sleepy grumble of assent, and tucked his other wing over his head. Maleficent followed his lead (for once) and fell asleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor liberties were taken with Diaval's dragon anatomy to make him a) able to lay down comfortably and b) curl around Maleficent because I want cuddling dammit.


	3. Coda: Diaval and the Pixies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pixies had to be somewhere in the castle after the battle. They (eventually) stumble across Diaval in the great hall.

Even with his wounds numbed, Diaval didn’t sleep well. The night passed in short naps as he dozed, only to be startled awake again. He could hear everything— The whole castle was in a (quiet) uproar as the guards were tended, Stefan’s body collected, and more servants were roused to start cleaning up the worst of the mess. What was left of Stefan’s council locked themselves away, but Aurora was allowed to sleep. _Oh, little one,_ he thought. _Your world just grew so much bigger. No more days in the Moors for you, the court would die of apoplexy._ A few of the braver servants darted past the open doors of the great hall, eyes huge and faces pale as they spotted him. Beyond that, he was acutely aware of where Maleficent had tucked herself against his side. 

He heaved a massive, gusty sigh that stirred tapestries and echoed off the stone ceiling. He adjusted the drape of his wing, and turned his head to look at Maleficent. She hadn’t moved much except to draw her legs up closer to her chest, still on her side. Her wings sagged, the uppermost one curling over her body and serving as a makeshift blanket. _She was not boasting about their size._ Her feathers were dark brown, like her hair but with subtle patterns that were barely visible in the dawning sunlight. Her hair was loose, for once, pooling on the floor. He let out another, smaller sigh as his heart knocked against his ribs. _Beautiful._ His eyes half-closed, and he was content to doze.

Anywhere from several minutes to an hour, horribly familiar, irritating voices woke him.

“Now how on earth did she get a dragon up here, that’s what I want to know!” Knotgrass complained, folding her arms. “They never leave their hoards! The entire border would have panicked! _And_ ,” she added. “We would have seen it!”

Diaval’s tail twitched as the three pixies flew around him, wings humming. He forced himself to lie still, eyes barely cracked open. Maleficent had exacted her small revenges, but he had had years to think of how he could best express his utter disgust at the depths of their poor parenting. That he was a dragon at the moment was bittersweet— No clever words to tell them exactly what he thought, but oh, there were advantages to being so very large and intimidating.

Thistlewit was on his left side, and let out a soft “Oh!” as she caught sight of Maleficent. He twitched his wing closer to his body. The blonde fairy’s head snapped around, and her eyes met his. “Knotgrass, Flittle…” She was already moving back, eyes wide, but her sisters were not as observant.

Flittle pointed. “Oh! Oh, look, it’s not a proper dragon at all!” she exclaimed. “Look at the feathers, it’s that mangy old raven of hers, just shapeshifted.”

_Mangy?!_ Old, he would allow. Not many ravens lived beyond fifteen, but here he was, almost twenty-one and stronger than ever— but mangy? His feathers were perfectly taken care of, thankyouverymuch! He raised his head and stared at them, letting out a thin hiss in lieu of the deafening roar they deserved. Knotgrass and Flittle darted back to join their sister, eyes wide. He cocked his head to the side, measuring the distance. They were (regrettably) out of biting range, and he didn’t dare move without waking Maleficent. On the other hand, the room was made of stone so a little more fire couldn’t hurt…He drew in a preparatory breath, not taking his eyes off the pixies—

Maleficent shifted, pressing closer to his side. A few licks of flame escaped into the air, and he shut his muzzle shut with a definite snap. He held the pixies’ gaze for a moment longer before turning his attention back to Maleficent. She was still asleep, but had rolled over to face his side. Deliberately, he curved his neck, tucking his head back under his wing and blocking Maleficent from view. 

The pixies hovered for a moment before Knotgrass let out a huff. “I don’t think it likes us!” she said. 

Diaval allowed himself a tiny growl, and was rewarded by the sound of all three pixies beating a hasty retreat out of the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what happens when I watch Maleficent instead of working on statistics homework-- I get ideas for codas. There's a second one I'll post tomorrow. Part of me wants to engineer the opportunity for Diaval to yell at the pixies properly, but I'm not sure what he would do. Or if the pixies would understand really . . .


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diaval finally downsizes. (There are side effects.)

Maleficent woke slowly, to Diaval’s insistent nudges. Still half-asleep, she batted at his muzzle with one hand and sat up. He snorted, but pulled back, watching her. 

“Dare I ask what time it is?” she said, trying not to yawn. He grunted, and she didn’t need to look up to see his unimpressed expression.  _Why do I surround myself with people who enjoy being up early?_ she wondered as she stood up and stretched. She forced her wings to open and close several times despite the aches that had settled into her muscles while she slept. Even after a night tucked against Diaval’s warmth, everything from shoulder to groin ached. Breathing was a special hell, intercostal muscles hurting every time her ribs flexed. She rubbed her shoulders before summoning enough magic to cover her battle outfit with her dressing gown. She wrapped the wide sash more tightly around her waist and stepped out from under Diaval’s wing.

“Ready to be something a little smaller?” she asked, magic already curling around her fingers. 

Diaval nodded his head vigorously, and stood up straight, wings mantling. She waved her hand, watching as he rapidly shrank, scales and wings smoothing into skin and arms and loose black clothing.  “Missed my beautiful face, did you?” he teased. The effect was ruined by the way he staggered on his feet, finding a pillar to prop himself against. “I liked being a dragon,” he said. “Can I do that again sometime? Big was…Big was…I dunno, but I liked it!” He beamed at her, and his eyes were suspiciously bright, pupils dilated despite the morning sun shining through broken windows.

She arched one eyebrow to hide the worry creeping into her heart. “You’re babbling, Diaval.” 

“Am I?” he wondered. “Hadn’t really noticed. Everything is so…shiny.” Indeed, he seemed to be watching everything from the broken glass on the floor to her wings with fascination, turning and cocking his head every which way. “You never said your wings were so beautiful, mistress. So many different patterns, I could stare at them for hours upon hours—”

“Hush,” she snapped, and he drew back, abashed. _Something is not right._ She closed her eyes and felt for her magic. It took a moment, and she fought back the urge to blush. The amount of magic it took to numb his wounds as a dragon was a much larger amount than what she would have used for his human shape. The amount left over was enough to have him flying with the pixies at the moment. _Thank the heavens I_ didn’t _shift him back to a raven_ , she thought. _He probably wouldn’t have been able to fly straight long enough to land_. 

“See Bergren, I told you they’d be fine!”

“…Yes, your Highness.”

Maleficent opened her eyes, and turned to see Aurora enter the hall. She was oddly pleased to see the lead guard from the previous night accompanying Aurora. Aurora was chipper (as always) as she approached. “Good morning, godmother!”

 _I have yet to meet a morning that meets that qualification._ “Morning, Aurora,” she replied, inclining her head. “Bergren, is it?” she asked, turning her attention to the man.

He stiffened, but met her gaze readily enough. “Yes, my lady.” He had changed his armor, from heavy steel, to a brass-studded leather gambeson and gorget. 

 _No iron or steel except for his sword and dagger. Well, well._ “Hmm.” She looked at Aurora. “Dare I ask how your morning has been spent?”

Aurora frowned. “In a lot of meetings, mostly. I’ve told the ironworkers to get rid of that horrible iron maze blocking the front gate, but they said it will take time. There are smaller ones at every entrance too.”

 _Damn you, Stefan._ “It is just as well,” Maleficent replied, and lifted her chin. “I am afraid I shall have to ask for hospitality. Diaval needs time to recover from his wounds.” _As do I._

Aurora looked over at Diaval who smiled up at her, and waved. “Good morning, Aurora. Your dress is beautiful. So many shiny threads…I want some of them, for my nest. It’s a gorgeous nest, I’ll have to show it to you next time you’re in the Moors—”

“You’re babbling again, Diaval,” Maleficent cut in. He fell silent with an amiable nod. “I numbed his injuries last night. There was enough left over to send his wits flying with the pixies when he shifted to something a little smaller, I’m afraid.”

Aurora giggled. “Oh dear, poor Diaval,” she said, covering her mouth with a hand. “Will he be alright?”

“Give it an hour and he’ll be his usual, aggravating, self,” Maleficent assured her. Diaval mumbled something, but she ignored him.

“I’m glad.” Aurora turned to Bergren. “Do you know of any rooms where they could stay?”

Bergren cleared his throat. “There are several suites of rooms available, your Highness. King Stefan’s…vigil did not leave us with much of a court. Many of the nobles have been taking care of their estates, and regrettably unable to attend the king.”

Aurora nodded. “We should send messengers to them.” She fiddled with the belt of her dress as she thought for a moment. Maleficent tucked her own hands into her sleeves, lest she do something foolish. Like reach out to her goddaughter, and still those fiddling fingers.

“Say the word and they will be sent,” Bergren said. He turned to Maleficent. “There is a set of rooms in the northeast tower with a private balcony, if that would be suitable.” His manner were stiff, but polite.

 _Hmm._ Maleficent glanced down at Diaval, who was staring fixedly at the shattered windows, and croaking something under his breath. “They sound perfect. If you would be so kind as to send someone to show us the way?”

Bergren looked uncomfortable. “It might be best if we escorted you.”

Maleficent had to smile at his discomfort. “Have we left your poor servants quaking in their boots?”

Aurora scowled, but Bergren nodded. “Rather so, I’m afraid.”

“Something to work on then,” Maleficent said, and knelt before Diaval. He started at her light touch on his hand, blinking rapidly.

“Mistress?” he asked, and tried to get to his feet. “What do you need?”

Maleficent caught at his arm as he tipped forward. She grit her teeth as his slight weight threw off her own center of balance. Her wings instinctively spread to compensate, and she let out a thin hiss of pain. Diaval flinched, curling in on himself as he leaned back against his pillar. 

She brought her wings back in, and rolled her shoulders to help them settle properly. “We need to walk to our rooms, Diaval. Can you do that or shall Bergren offer his arm?”

Behind her, Bergren let out a muted protest, but Diaval shook his head. “I can walk, Mistress,” he said cheerfully, and pushed away from the pillar. Maleficent held her breath, but this time he kept his balance. He took several experiment steps forward, arms spread wide. “See?”

“Yes,” she replied dryly and turned to Bergren. “If you care to lead the way?”

Bergren bowed. “Of course, my lady.” 

—

It took almost twenty minutes to get them through the halls and up the winding stairs to the northeast tower. Diaval’s balance was a source of amusement throughout. He grabbed at walls, and the nearest shoulder (but never hers, not again) for the first half, but he seemed steadier on his feet by the time they reached the stairs. He kept up a running commentary of everything they passed, from the moth-eaten tapestries to the startled servants they passed.

“An hour, you said?” Aurora asked her with a smile.

“Less, I hope,” Maleficent said. She leaned heavily on her walking staff, recovered from the center of the ruined hall. It had survived surprisingly intact, despite all the fire Diaval had been throwing about. “Healing his wounds will help a great deal, I imagine. Ignore any startled squawks, please. He’s always been rather squirmy when being healed.”

“He hasn’t been hurt often, has he?” Aurora asked, and Maleficent shook her head.

“Only once or twice in the many years I’ve known him. He’s a clever bird, beastie. He knows how to keep himself in one piece.” She smiled. “He helped keep you safe more than a time or two over the years.”

“I’m not surprised.” Aurora gave her a sidelong glance. “And you, godmother?”

“I thought my shadow fell over you, your entire life,” Maleficent replied, but Aurora didn’t look away. “There might have been a few instances,” she allowed and pursed her lips, remembering one sunny day on the cliffs. Thankfully Aurora accepted her answer, and skipped ahead of the group. She was the first into the rooms themselves, throwing back the curtains, and opening windows.

Diaval plopped down onto the sofa with a wince. “Things are starting to hurt again,” he said. “I don’t like it.”

Maleficent nodded as she watched Aurora bounce in and out of the two bedrooms and small study, flinging open the doors onto the balcony. There was a fine layer of dust over everything, but that was hardly a surprise. “We should be very comfortable in here,” she observed, and bowed her head in Bergren’s direction. “Thank you for bringing us.” 

He bowed back. “Of course. It’s the least I could do for her Highness.” He scuffed one boot at the thick rugs and scowled at the puff of dust that settled on the boot leather. “I will have some maids sent up during luncheon, with fresh linens and things. Will you join her Highness for the meal?”

“Oh, I imagine so.” She let out a measured breath. “If things are to be set aright between our lands, things must change.”

He didn’t respond to that, too busy looking startled. Maleficent watched as he shepherded Aurora toward the door, murmuring something to her about meeting one or two of the nobles who had stayed at the castle for the past sixteen years. “I will send one of my men to fetch you for luncheon,” he said, and closed the door, leaving Maleficent and Diaval alone once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Partial credit/blame to Ambrosia who went "Wait, what if Diaval got high off magic painkillers?" and I said "YES."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diaval gets his wounds tended to. There is also preening.

As soon as the door was shut, Maleficent stepped over to the couch where Diaval sat. “How are you feeling?” she asked, watching him closely.

His pupils had contracted, and he was focusing on her with none of the tense, jittery movements from before. “Things are starting to hurt again,” he repeated with a slight smile. “Ow.”

“Let’s see what I can do about that, hmm?” she asked. He nodded. His loose shirt came off easily enough, and he tugged his pants up to his knees. 

There were a few, angry-looking gashes and puncture wounds, focused along his arms and shoulders; the wounds of his dragon form writ small. His torso and back had been less vulnerable, but there were several harsh abrasions around his ankles and calves, the skin mottled with bruising. Matching scrapes and bruises were visible around his neck. _Probably from the chains,_ she thought, and knelt down to get a close look. 

“Your legs and neck are easily healed enough,” she said. “I’m not sure the muscles will feel better, but time will mend that.”

Diaval shifted in his seat, leaning forward. “They have a bath house here,” he said. “The servants were always complaining about having to keep the kettles full and the fires stoked. I can soak there later.” He hesitated. "It would help your wings too, I think." She didn’t say anything, but bent her head, and held her hands over his left leg, concentrating. Above her, Diaval twitched. She grasped his ankle to keep him from squirming away.

“Don’t. Move,” she ordered. “You know perfectly well, my magic isn’t well-suited to this.” 

“It feels strange!” he complained, twisting his shirt in white-knuckled hands. “All prickling and itchy and warm.”

“I can always leave them…” she said, and heard him gulp.

“No. No, this is…fine.” His teeth were gritted in a fake smile when she glanced up.

“I thought as much.” She smirked, and moved to his other leg. A few minutes healing, and his legs were unmarred, muscles sleek under pale skin. 

Diaval let out a sigh of relief. He stretched his legs, rolling his ankles, and wriggling his toes. “Thank you, mistress,” he said, uncharacteristically serious.

“Don’t thank me yet, I still have to heal your arms and neck,” she replied dryly, moving to sit next to him.

Diaval hunched his shoulders, but didn’t move. She ran a light finger over the gashes, deadening the pain again. “These will scar,” she said quietly.  _If I had had the magic to heal him last night…_ Guilt nagged at the back of her mind, a restless ache that made her wings clamp against her spine, feathers slicked down. _Stop that,_ she told them.

“They’ll be hidden under my feathers,” he said with a shrug, and then grinned at her, wicked and familiar. “If they had managed to mark my pretty face, I might be more upset.”

She rolled her eyes. “Incorrigible bird,” she murmured, and held her hands over the widest wound where it ran across his right shoulder. She ignored how he sucked in a breath, and then let it out again as a slow, shaking hiss. Under her hands, torn skin drew back together and knit, an angry shade of red at the forced growth.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so quiet,” she said as she finished, and moved onto the next cut. “Should I be checking your skull for lumps?”

“I’m not sure I care for the implications of that statement,” he sniffed, lifting his chin. “I am capable of being quiet for hours upon end. Wouldn’t exactly be able to hear all the latest court gossip if I was busy cawing and drawing attention to myself, would I?”

“No, I suppose not,” she allowed. “Though you won’t be doing that for much longer, I think.”

He stiffened under her hands. If he had been in his raven-shape, his feathers would have been bristling in alarm. “What do you mean by that?” he asked, his voice sharp.

She sat back, smoothing her dressing gown to hide her own discomfort. “You hardly need spy when Aurora would welcome you openly,” she said. _Hmm. An official emissary from the Moors?_ she wondered, but put the thought aside. Diaval relaxed, somewhat, at her words. “Why, what did you think I meant?” she asked, curious.

His fingers knotted and unknotted themselves in his shirt. “Nothing,” he said after a moment. “I just… It was a stupid thought. Forget it, truly.”

She watched him, but he didn’t meet her eyes, keeping his eyes on his lap. “All right,” she said, and turned back to healing.

Diaval watched her work, not moving except to occasionally flex his fingers, and shiver as golden warmth seeped under his skin. A half hour passed before she finished, leaving reddened scars that would fade to silvery-white in less than a month and smooth skin around his neck. The sun had crept across the rugs, to warm their feet, and the tips of her wings. 

She stood. Even with her staff, it was a fight to balance herself. She slid one foot back, and tried not to feel too defeated— It had taken her months to relearn her center of balance the first time. She had spent far too much time leaning forward, knuckles white on the her staff, before she had learned the trick of standing straight, forcing scarred shoulder blades down and back, before traumatized muscles had stiffened into a permanent hunch.

“Mistress?” Diaval looked worried.

“I may have need of my staff yet,” she said calmly. Met his gaze. “They…They are heavier than I remember. I won’t fly quite yet, I think.” A slow breath out, as if that would make the admission hurt less.

Diaval’s gaze settled on her wings, and she forced herself to keep from hunching at the attention. “They really are beautiful,” he said. Frowned, and leaned to the side, peering around her shoulder. “A bit of mess at the moment, but a good bath and preening will fix that.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” she replied, deadpan, because she hadn’t. Last night she had been too tired, this morning, too focused on healing him. But now that he mentioned it, she could feel the dirt and dust caked on neglected feathers, felt how the air tugged and irritated every ragged, crushed, out-of-place pinion. 

 _I must see what can be done about that._ _Soon._ She might not have Diaval’s vanity, but every creature with wings cared for them, kept them clean, and flight-worthy. Even the pixies would be appalled at the state of her wings, never mind that insect wings were far easier to tend. She raised a hand in silent question, the magic to transform him curling about her fingers. He nodded, and she flicked her fingers. _Be_ _fore he can say anything else about my wings._

He flapped his wings, landing on the couch back. “A bath house, you said?” she asked, and he bobbed his head, fluffing all his feathers out, and shaking himself to resettle them. “After lunch then.” 

Diaval crouched as if to fly, but stopped. He eyed her, clicking his beak in irritation. She raised an eyebrow, and he shrugged his wings several times. He then preened one wing vigorously, and eyed her again. Mystified, she offered him her wrist. He stepped onto it, and started to climb up to her shoulder before she lifted him there. He settled himself carefully, mindful of his talons. He muttered to himself once, and then turned his head.

“What are you doing— Diaval!” She tensed as he buried his beak in her hair. She could feel him tugging and picking at something, and grit her teeth. “A kitten,” she threatened. “One of the big, fluffy, ones for Aurora's court ladies to fawn over.”

He ignored her before pulling back with whatever he had been fishing for. He leaned forward, something in his beak. She held up her hand and he dropped several bits of debris into it, stone and glass and wood. She blinked and then flushed. She hadn’t braided her hair last night or even brushed it after the battle. Even if she had, it looked like she would have gotten a dozen pinpricks and slivers in the process. “Vain bird,” she muttered, but his beak was already back in her hair. “I can brush my own hair, you know.”

He croaked, and dropped another sliver of glass into her waiting hand. He leaned forward again, talons hooked into the thick silk of her dressing grown, and snapped his beak, watching her intently. She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. When she didn’t bat him away, he resumed his work. 

She sat down with a sigh, and stroked the feathers of his wing, eyes closing as he worked. “I’m braiding it once you’re finished,” she said, and he croaked his agreement. Halfway through, he carefully edged over to her other shoulder, mauling the collar of her dressing gown as he gripped it with his talons. A small mountain of glass shards, slivers of wood, and stone chips accumulated in her cupped palm as he worked.

Finally, Diaval combed through her hair one final time, and stepped back with a self-satisfied quark. “Oh, hush,” she said, and shrugged her shoulder sharply to dislodge him. He hopped down onto the couch arm, and watched with a keen eye as she dumped the debris on a small end table next to the couch. He clicked his beak, this time in approval, as she ran her fingers through her hair, and shook it back before quickly braiding it. A prickle of magic, and there was a leather thong to tie it off. 

 _Just in time_ , she thought as there came a hesitant knock on the door. She offered Diaval her wrist again, and resettled him on her shoulder, idly smoothing his chest feathers with her hand. He adjusted the lay of one or two feathers before rubbing his beak against her hair. Outside, she could almost hear the unfortunate guardsman sent to fetch them shaking in his boots.

“Stop your fussing,” she muttered, and walked to answer the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'd think it would be easier to come up with a situation where Maleficent would let Diaval preen her in raven form. Ha. Hahaha. Hopefully this was worth it. I can't wait to write the fic where she lets him braid her hair in human form.
> 
> Also, massive thanks to amor-patriae over on Tumblr for reminding me to update with this chapter.


	6. Coda: Maleficent's Realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The impact of getting her wings back finally hits Maleficent.

Maleficent and Diaval were walking back to their quarters after that first stilted dinner with Aurora’s shrunken court when it finally sank in. Her wings ached from being tucked so closely to her back, trembling every time a servant passed behind her. Here, away from the main corridors, she let her wings sag a little. Her primaries dragged against the ground more fully, and she leaned more heavily on her staff. Diaval said nothing, but he was careful to walk where she could see him, and keep a respectful distance. They were rounding a corner, when one of her wings collided against unyielding stone. It wasn’t that hard, nothing like batting away the thrown spears of the previous night, but it was enough to make her breath catch in pain. Diaval took a step towards her, raising his hands as if to help. She breathed through the pain, letting her head hang to try and stretch cramped muscles. 

“I— I should be more careful,” she said, aiming for levity and falling short. “Now that I have….” Her voice trailed off as it sank in. _I have my wings again. I have my wings_ back. _It’s not a dream or a bad day, they’re really, truly, back._ The hall spun a little, and she drew in a ragged breath. _Not here. Not in the halls._ She forced herself to stand up straight, meeting Diaval’s worried gaze. “My wings are back,” she said, and her voice cracked on the last word.

Diaval’s eyes widened. Despite her best efforts, whatever he saw had him at her side in a moment. Before she could object, he insinuated himself against her side, one arm wrapped around her waist. “Just lean on me, mistress,” he said. “Sort of— Yes, there you go.” Her left wing jerked, half-extending so that it was draped over his shoulders. Overworked muscles relaxed, and she bit back a moan of relief. Diaval shifted, making sure that her wing wouldn’t slip off. “There you go,” he repeated. “Back to our rooms, I think.” He shuffled forward a step, and she automatically moved with him. 

Their pace wasn’t the smoothest, but she raised her head a little as they climbed the final set of stairs. Diaval was murmuring something under his breath as they walked, too soft for her to hear. He glanced at her once or twice but didn’t say anything about the trembling he could so obviously feel. She didn’t speak, her own thoughts running in a dizzying circle of _My wings are back, my wings are back, my wings are back, my wings are back…_

The door to their rooms shut with a reassuring thud, and Diaval ducked out from under her wing to make sure it was locked. Maleficent swayed, fighting to adjust to the shift in balance. She started towards the closer of the two bedrooms, with its too flat, too wide, bed. She could sit down, or even better, lay down, give her wings the chance to relax properly— Her legs folded before she could make it halfway across the room. Her staff hit the ground, and she wrapped her arms around herself. Her wings sagged to ground, half-open. She worked her fingers under the thick layer of covert feathers and down to touch her wing joints. She dug her fingers into the skin, feeling where the roughness of leftover scars gave way to smoother, freshly healed skin along her wings' humeri. 

It had been over seventeen years since she had cried like this— and slow-healing wounds that hurt with every breath had discouraged anything like huge, shuddering sobs that did little to ease Stefan’s betrayal. But she was crying now, in earnest. She let her head drop against the thick rug, gasping for breath. She cried for the unexpected joy of regaining her wings. She cried at the relief of no more bad days. She cried for Aurora and the broken curse. She even cried for Stefan, a little, for the loss of the sweet, sharp-faced boy she had fallen in love with all those years ago. Her wings shivered and twitched as the tiny, unused, muscles she had forgotten about in the intervening years responded. Diaval was nearby, more felt than seen. Every so often he made an odd little chirruping noise, deep in his throat. 

Eventually, her sobs slowed to a stop, leaving her aching and exhausted despite the nascent peace settling in the back of her mind and heart. She drew her wings back in, one at a time, her fingers feeling every twitch and tremble of overworked muscles. She sat up and wiped at her face, smoothing her hair back into some semblance of order before turning her head to look at Diaval. He was squatting a safe distance away, weight settled on his heels, arms crossed and resting on his knees. He looked almost upset as she had been, tear tracks visible on his cheeks in the torchlight. 

“A far cry from my usual self, I would imagine,” she said, her voice closer to his own raven rasp. “My apologies.”

There was another of those small chirrups, and he shook his head. “Don’t say that,” he croaked. He scrubbed at his cheeks with his shoulders, more raven than man.  “Can you stand?” he asked. Her staff was by him, and he nudged it towards her.

She let out a huff of silent laughter, but reached for the staff. She braced herself, and got to her feet, wobbling like a newborn water sprite until she was standing. Diaval rose to his feet, still watching her with obvious concern. “I’m fine,” she said. “I just…” She shook her head, words failing. 

“You have your wings back,” he said softly.

“Yes,” she said, just as quiet. _I have my wings back._ “I— It’s been a very long day.” She held her hand up, gold curling around her fingers in a silent question. To her surprise, Diaval shook his head. 

“I’m of more use in my man-skin, I think,” he said. He nodded at the smaller bedroom, set opposite hers. “I can sleep in there, when I get tired.”

She raised an eyebrow, but he set his jaw and didn’t elaborate. “All right,” she said after a moment. “Let me know when you want your feathers back.” 

He cracked a smile at that. “As you wish,” he said. “Sleep well, mistress.”

“Good night, Diaval.” She left him in the common room, shutting the bedroom door with a slow sigh. Crossing to the massive bed, she awkwardly clambered on top of it, collapsing onto her stomach. The thick pillows muffled her moan of relief. Truly, rebuilding her flight muscles would be…arduous. She could only pray that the muscles used to keep her wings in check would rebuild more quickly. She extinguished the candles and torches that had been lit with a whisper of magic. Banishing her gown and dragging the top blanket over her legs was the work of a moment. She listened to soft scuffling movements of Diaval beyond her door, and fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because there's a difference between intellectually knowing something and _knowing_ something.
> 
> What Diaval is so-carefully as he helps her murmuring is a litany of encouragement-- and prayers that she's not going to turn him into something unpleasant for invading her personal space so thoroughly. And he stands guard for most of the night after she falls asleep. When he does sleep, it's on the couch because his room is too far away. He'd be in front of her door if that wasn't far too obvious. (And liable to make Maleficent trip when she eventually shuffles out in the morning. Whoops...)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diaval and Maleficent find Aurora tucked away in a dusty old room.

Maleficent and Diaval wandered the castle’s not-wholly-unfamiliar halls. It had been almost a fortnight since the battle. The iron maze blocking the main entrance was being dismantled slowly, but thoroughly. One of Aurora’s ministers had commented that they would make a pretty penny, selling off the excess metal once it had been melted down into ingots. 

No one had challenged their presence after Aurora’s firm decree, but they had both spotted maids clutching iron nails as they walked past, and courtiers warding against evil. The iron hardly affected Maleficent when the maids were too scared to come near her, but the wary attitudes had grown tiresome after the third day. Bergren, officially appointed as Aurora’s chief bodyguard (with rumors of a knighting in the offing), had relaxed somewhat, but far too many people still jumped when she spoke. 

As a result, they kept to themselves outside of meals. Maleficent spent most of her time in their rooms stretching her wings, and executing slow, careful wing-flaps. She went for the occasional flight, circling the courtyard where thermals rose from heated stone and the myriad forges at work. Rebuilding lost muscle was a slow, painful process, and she often commandeered the bath house after dinner, soaking muscles and feathers alike. 

Diaval often flew with her, diving past, and showing off. “One of these days, I’m going to transform you midair,” she told him after one flight. “See how well you fly as a man or a mealy worm.” He shook his head, and grinned at her, unrepentant and unafraid. 

The balance had shifted between them, a subtle tension in the air that they both ignored. He was no longer her wings, and had repaid his debt. Technically, he would have been well within his rights to demand his freedom, but he hadn’t made any mention of it. He was content to follow her through the halls in his man-shape, or flit about the castle in his feathers. “The servants still don’t look up nearly enough,” he told her smugly. 

“And what do they say?” she asked, out of old habit. 

He shrugged, smoothing back his hair. “They love Aurora. Stefan did not endear himself to his people in his madness, and that makes it almost laughably easy for her. The young prince has more than one admirer, but he doesn’t notice.”

“Hmm.” She had watched the Prince. Philip, he was called. He was unfailing in his politeness, and one of the few who didn’t shy away from her. Oh, there was fear in him, but he didn’t let it stop him. He asked cautious, intelligent questions of the Moors at shared meals, and she replied, cordial and calm. 

Diaval could be just as charming as the prince, away from her side. Where she was frightening and distant; he was handsome and personable. He had been dropping diplomatic hints in the ears of ministers and court folk alike. Slowly, but surely, they were laying the groundwork for peace between the two lands.

Their actions had earned them some small measure of trust, evidently. Bergren had knocked on their door after breakfast, and entered without waiting for a reply. He looked pale, and tense. “Her Highness is missing,” he said, before they could speak. “We’re looking for her, but would you be willing to help? She doesn’t know very many people in the castle.”

Diaval was on his feet in a moment. “What do you mean “missing?”” he asked, eyes narrowed. He waved one hand towards the rest of the castle. “She can’t exactly have left! You’ve got guards everywhere! And she’s Aurora, always bouncing about, and smiling.”

Bergren drew himself up, but he was still an inch or two shorter than Diaval. “No, but that leaves a lot of halls to search,” he explained patiently.

“Peace, Diaval,” Maleficent said as she rose to her feet, staff in hand. “Did you want us to look anywhere in particular?” she asked.

Bergren hesitated. “The northern part of the castle. We already looked, but the gods know there are places we could have missed.”

“Can’t even do a proper hunt,” Diaval muttered under his breath as they left their rooms. “I’m a _bird,_ and I could do better than that.” He had fallen silent at her quelling look. They searched the halls, checking every room with the occasional help of Maleficent’s magic unlocking recalcitrant doors. They could hear the calls of “Your Highness!” and “Princess!” in other parts of the castle. "Idiots," Diaval muttered. "Just let her know where to avoid you all, why don't you?"

They were almost done searching a small hallway off one of the upper galleries of the throne room when Diaval’s head snapped up. While a scent hound might have been faster, Diaval’s ears were sharper than most, including her own.

Maleficent stretched out a hand, and felt a whisper of familiar, faerie, magic from behind a heavy, oaken door. They shared a glance, and Diaval nudged the door open with his gentle knock. “Aurora?” he said, and there she was, sitting on the floor.

Maleficent stepped forward, and winced at the odor. Dust, damp, and old sweat hung in the air. Not a pleasant place to be so why was Aurora— She froze, a robin caught in a hawk’s gaze. Her wings twitched and shuddered, clamping down against her back. She felt her gorge rise as she stared at the shattered remnants of a cage on the ground and the just-as-broken window.

_Oh. Oh, Aurora, why come here?_

The room was filled with boxes and dusty furniture, cobwebs hanging everywhere. Beside the door was a heavy, wooden chair that Aurora avoided, curled in on herself between the chair, and the broken cage. Maleficent’s gaze was drawn to the chair, and she felt her wings shudder again. She swallowed, and stepped forward into the room, placing one hand on Aurora’s shoulder. 

“Aurora,” she said, but Aurora didn’t move from where she sat, staring at broken glass, and twisted, iron-spiked wood. “Aurora, come away from here.” She kept her voice soft and gentle. Memory flickered in the back of her mind, coaxing a fawn to her hand, and watching Aurora do the same.

“Godmother,” Aurora whispered, after a minute. “I— He did this. He stole your wings, didn’t he.” It wasn’t a question. “My father. He— He stole them and locked them up in here.” 

Diaval stiffened.  “Mistress?” he whispered. He had no magic of his own, but he had his raven instincts, and years of living in the Moors, in her service. Everything in this room whispered of illness and ill omens. Aurora’s words only confirmed it.

“Diaval, help Aurora stand,” she ordered, and he moved forward into the room, jaw tight, and eyes dark. He tugged Aurora to her feet, and out of the room, never turning his back on the broken cage and window. Once they were out of the room, Maleficent stepped back over the threshold. Magic surged to her hands before she even raised them, and she did little more than unleash it into the room. 

Diaval and Aurora flinched back as green flames roared into life but Maleficent ignored them. The fire filled the room entirely to lick at the room’s contents and stone ceiling. She focused the flames, and watched them shift from poisonous green to gold as the wooden chair and frame of the cage that had trapped her wings caught fire. She set her jaw, and didn’t let the flames escape out the door or window as everything in the room burned to ash, or was ruined beyond repair.

The glass and iron on the floor were melted into unrecognizable puddles of slag before she let the flames die out. Only then did she close the door with a flick of her fingers, and slump forward. She leaned against her staff, wings sagging to the ground as if she had just flown for days upon end. She breathed in the smell of ash and scorched stone, filling her lungs over and over again.

This time, it was Diaval who spoke. “Come away, both of you,” he said, and Maleficent turned her head to look at him. Aurora was clinging to his waist, but he reached out to her. Greatly daring, he rested a hand on her right wing. She shivered, too tired to move away from his touch. “Mistress, come away from here.” He stroked the long feathers once before pulling away.

She nodded. “Yes,” she said, and her voice was hoarse. She turned away from the door, and lifted her eyes to Diaval’s. “Back to our rooms.”

He nodded, and without another word, herded them back to the northeastern tower. He tucked Aurora up on the couch in the main room, dragging a heavy coverlet from Maleficent’s bed to wrap around her. Maleficent stood in front of the fireplace, opening and closing her wings, feeling the push and pull of muscle and bone, solid and reassuring as the fire behind her.

She watched as Diaval fetched a heavy goblet from the study and a large pitcher of water. He sloshed some into the goblet, and pressed it into Aurora’s hands. “Drink,” he urged her. He held up the pitcher to Maleficent but she shook her head.

Aurora obediently took a drink and cradled the goblet in her hands. She looked at Maleficent, pale and drawn. “Why?” she asked. “Why would he do such a thing to you?”

Maleficent felt her knuckles pop as she gripped her staff. _She is owed answers. She never would have been cursed if he had not stolen my wings._  “For power,” she replied, lip curling back. Forced herself to meet her goddaughter’s eyes. “I bested the old king in battle. He promised that whoever killed me would be king.” She drew in a deep breath. Let it out. “Apparently my wings were suitable proof.”

Aurora blanched. “He did that…so that he would be _king_?" she whispered, and Maleficent nodded. "That’s—I can’t— I’m going to throw up— ”

Diaval shoved the water pitcher in front of Aurora. She grabbed at it, letting her goblet topple to the ground. Just in time, as she was violently sick, heaving and retching until there was nothing left in her stomach. Diaval smoothed her hair back, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders until she was done. She wiped at her mouth with her sleeve and coughed, shaking her head. He wrinkled his nose as he set the pitcher on the floor.

“I’m glad he’s dead,” Aurora said, her voice scratchy, but fierce. “I don’t care if that makes me a horrible person, I hate him and— and I’m glad he’s dead!” She was starting to cry again, and Maleficent’s heart ached for her. 

“Yes,” Maleficent said quietly. “I am glad he is dead as well, beastie.”

“Me too,” Diaval muttered. He let Aurora cling to him, wrapping her arms around his waist, and crying into his shoulder. He preened her hair back into some semblance of order with his fingers, and held her. “He is dead, food for the mealy worms, and Mistress has her beautiful wings again,” he reassured her.

Maleficent flexed her wings once more, and stepped away from the fireplace. “I have my wings again,” she said. She hesitated before settling herself next to Aurora on the couch. She rested one hand on Aurora’s, ignoring Diaval’s startled look. “I have my wings,” she repeated. She squeezed Aurora's hand. “Because of you, beastie. Never forget that.”

Aurora hiccuped, but nodded. Eventually, her tears ran out, and she sat between them, content to use Diaval as a pillow. She watched as the fire crackled in the hearth, eyes half-shut. Diaval started to hum something, deep and rumbling. Maleficent watched as Aurora fell asleep, fingers still curled in the fabric of Diaval's shirt. "You do that uncommonly well," she observed.

Diaval's lips twitched, and he settled himself more comfortably. "I've had my share of practice," he replied. "You should let Bergren know she's with us."

Maleficent sighed and eased herself off the couch. Aurora didn't stir and she nodded at Diaval. "I'll let him know she'll be down for luncheon," she said and left their rooms to the sound of Diaval's quiet humming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have some angst, pyrotechnic therapy, and family bonding time. I know, it's what you've always wanted. You're welcome.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a month, Maleficent and Diaval are leaving the castle.

Maleficent stretched her wings before closing them with a sigh. While she wouldn't say that they were back to their old strength, her wings were much improved. It didn't hurt to have them folded (properly, with only the tips of her primaries sweeping the ground) against her back, or after a short flight. Diaval watched from near the door. “You’re not ready to leave at all,” he commented dryly. 

Maleficent shot him a wordless glare. “It’s been a month,” she replied. A month of cramped castle halls and suspicious humans. _A whole month and most of them still think I'm going to murder them in their sleep._ There were a few exceptions to the rule, but not enough for her comfort. “I am more than ready to return home to the Moors.” 

He nodded, and stood up straighter. “Of course you are,” he said. “I am too. At least we can leave, knowing that Aurora is safe among her own people. You would have had me back here within a week, otherwise, seeing what gossip I could pick up for you.” He smiled. “Admit it.”

“…It wouldn’t have been a week.”

“No, no, of course not. What was I thinking? Three days at most.” He eyed her. “You’re going to miss her.”

“I wasn’t ever supposed to have her,” she shot back. “This is the way it would have been if I hadn’t cursed her in the first place.”

“Plus or minus a dead king,” he said, and cocked his head towards the courtyard as a rousing cheer went up, nearly drowning out the sound of iron crashing to the ground. “I think that was the last of it.”

“I certainly hope so.”

Diaval adopted his very best posture, and bowed formally. He held out his hand. “If I may escort my mistress to the front gate?” he offered. 

“Court manners don’t suit you,” she said with a sniff, but set her hand atop his in the fashion of Aurora’s court. 

"Lies," he replied, not at all perturbed. "Lies and slander. Aurora's etiquette teacher uses me as a good example, I'll have you know." They walked down the stairs, proceeded by the sharp click of her walking staff on the stone floor, and the rustle of servants hurrying out of their way. 

"Hmm." She favored him with a sidelong look that made him grin, but didn't say anything more.

“Godmother, Diaval!” Aurora waved at them as they entered the main hall. Bergren followed her, standing just behind her left shoulder. “I was just about to come get you,” Aurora said. “They finally removed the last of the iron from the main gate!” 

“So Diaval tells me,” Maleficent said. She hesitated, wings shifting against her shoulders. “We had best return to the Moors,” she said. “We have long overstayed our welcome, I fear.” Her eyes flickered to the few nobles and servants watching them. "Balthazar and the others must be wondering where we disappeared.

Aurora’s face fell.“I— I understand,” she said. “I’m surprised you stayed so long.”

“I walked into this castle through the front gate, and I will walk back out through the front gate,” Maleficent said evenly. Bergren cracked a small, approving smile. “Keep her safe, Bergren,” she ordered.

He bowed. “Of course, my lady.” She had told him, time and time again, that she held no title (especially in Aurora's court), but he persisted in calling her that.

By now, Maleficent was used to Aurora’s darting hugs, and was ready when the princess leapt forward. Her wings flared to steady the both of them, and she managed to pat Aurora on the back before she pulled away to hug Diaval in turn. “Will you walk us out?” she asked.

Aurora smiled. “Of course I will.” She stood up straighter, and lifted her chin. “Just try and stop me.”

Maleficent’s lips twitched. “I think not.”

Diaval was more unreserved, throwing his head back, and cackling. “I’d like to watch someone try, little one!”

As a group they walked out into the courtyard. The ironworkers still took up most of the available space but there were wide paths between the forges, and the wagons waiting to go out, with their heavy loads of iron ingots. Maleficent didn’t say anything, but her fingers tightened on Diaval’s hand, and her wings were tucked against her back as they walked. Diaval was equally quiet, but he brushed a thumb over her fingers in silent understanding.

Most of the yard fell silent as they swept past. A few workers muttered amongst themselves, but were silenced by Bergren’s stern look, and Aurora’s serene smile. The princess had quickly become a familiar (and beloved) face in the weeks of work, watching the men work. She had asked questions about how they used fire and hammer to melt the iron down and reshape it. Apparently, she had also wanted to try the work herself, but had been hastily persuaded otherwise by the workers, and Bergren. 

Courtyard crossed, they entered the outer gate. The click of Maleficent’s walking staff (hardly used now, except out of habit) on stone echoed. Maleficent walked tall and proud where iron had once forced her to bend and eel her way through. Guards watched from the walls as queen and bodyguard, faerie and servant, crossed the wide bridge in front of the castle. Maleficent felt her wings relax as they stepped out of the castle's shadow, and into the afternoon sun.

Aurora spoke first. “I’ll await word from you,” she said, and bit her lip. “We can bring the two lands together, I just know it.”

“Yes, we will,” Maleficent promised. “Expect a message from an official emissary within two months. Goodbye, beastie.”

Aurora nodded, and dropped a wobbly curtsey. “Goodbye, Godmother. Goodbye, Diaval.”

Not to be outdone, Diaval stepped forward with a bow, and caught Aurora's hand. He pressed a kiss to her fingers. “Goodbye, little one,” he said, echoing their first meeting. Bergren twitched, but said nothing as the raven-man moved back.

“Diaval?” Maleficent asked, glancing at him.

“Mistress?”

“Let’s go home.”

Diaval inclined his head, and Maleficent waved her hand to transform him back to his raven-shape. He beat his wings to gain altitude, watching her while Bergren and Aurora hastily withdrew— Maleficent’s wings kicked up large clouds of dust when she took to the air. Servants and nobles alike had quickly learned to give her ample space if she chose to land in the courtyard, or on rare occasions, take off. 

Maleficent spread her wings wide, and crouched down. With a final smile at Aurora, she leapt up into the air. Diaval encouraging caws cut off with a squawk as she rose above him, and the downdraft from her wings sent him tumbling. He righted himself quickly enough, and snapped his beak at her, skating out of the way. She didn’t respond, focused on gaining height. Her wings were more than strong enough for this, but her endurance needed work. She circled over the moat, taking advantage of the thermal over sun-warmed water before angling away from the castle, towards the Moors. _Home_ , she thought with a smile as Diaval shot past her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, this story was only supposed to be three chapters. It kept growing. But yay, Maleficent and Diaval are off to the Moors and their ridiculous tension is resolved (somewhat) in Ruffled Feathers.


End file.
